Nonchalance

Noncalance



It's not just the aching discomfort that tenses my muscles, or the uneasiness that tears through my spine.

It's the tightening of my skin, in my chest, the pause mid-breath.

Shameful, this conflict of mine.

...

The car pulls into the street,

Swift as only he can be,

With an ease that knows no boundaries.

...

I hear the sound.

Loud greetings all around.

My shaken heart thumps that little bit quicker.

...

I smile weakly, force a weighty hello.

My voice stiff, monotone, and never my own.

...

Stilted conversations and persevering, sweeping graciousness,

I wonder, what must it be like to remain so stubbornly oblivious?

Each word carefully considered, it wears down my patience with every reply,

A façade of indifference for this world where his mistakes never apply.

...

Cue the same old recycled jokes from that same old foolish show.

I can roll my eyes all I want, but immaturity's one thing he can't seem to outgrow.

A mind that twisted and eyes that small.

Sometimes I think he's not really there at all.

...

They say it's better to laugh than cry.

But this is a means of obscurity.

Cowardly.

Disregarding other's feelings to avoid ever really having to try.

...

His presence seems to cast aside all those moments that defined my nature,

So that I'm sitting here - most decidedly alone - in the body of a stranger.

...

Does he notice how rarely I murmur his name?

...

As generic as it is, as expected as it should be,

I don't want to acknowledge any lingering attachment to me.

I'm not calculatedly rebellious, not trying to emphasise a bitter point.

Doesn't anyone realise how painful it is, how this verity might disappoint?

...

As much as I would like to let go of it all forever,

I am only human, and believe it or not, I can't magically make it all better.

There are all these criticisms to plague my mind,

A mouthful of acid and no reason to be kind.

...

He's my father, there's no denial.

But honestly?

In no way does he deserve that title.